


One Day, When You Want Me

by jerry_duty



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcoholism, Longing, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 04:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15380367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jerry_duty/pseuds/jerry_duty
Summary: What Connor wanted was to stroke Hank's hair back from his long cheeks, to rub his thumbs along the loose and bruised skin under Hank's eyes, to take care of him in every possible way that any person could take care of any other person.





	One Day, When You Want Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serenityfails](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityfails/gifts).



The lieutenant stirred on the couch. He was in that peculiar near to sleep state unique to humans. Connor's hand stilled at his ear. He stayed there, crouched beside the couch, next to Hank.

"It's only me."

Hank squinted at him. He'd rheum yellow in the corners of his eyes. His nose wrinkled. His pupils were sleep-dilated, and he looked at Connor as if in confusion. Connor wondered what the mucus to oil content of the discharge would prove to be if he should pick it from Hank's eye and analyze.

"Connor," he prompted. "The android sent by CyberLife."

"'know who y're," Hank grumbled. 

He fumblingly passed a hand over his face. He had to shift off his side and more onto his back in order to do so. Connor withdrew his hand entirely. His fingerpads itched. The shifting had released a fresh wave of Hank's particular sweat odor. It would, he knew, be inappropriate to lick the lieutenant's exposed neck. 

"What're y'doing here?"

"Your blood alcohol content exceeded the legal limit for the state of Michigan," said Connor. "I drove you home."

This at last roused Hank. "Fuck you, no you didn't. My car?"

"The transmission needs attention, and the left rear tire is slightly misaligned. Also," said Connor, "I picked your pocket for your keys, while you were throwing up in the street."

Hank pulled a face. It was obvious from the minute motions against his cheek that he was licking his teeth.

"It was easy," Connor added as Hank blanched at the taste of his own mouth. Connor altered the tenor of his voice, seeking to mimic Hank's own wry tones. "You'd taken off your pants at that point."

Hank glowered at him. "Quit yanking my dick."

"You did leave your underwear on." But Connor smiled, pleased that Hank had immediately caught on to his joke. He stood then out of his crouch and offered Hank his hand. 

"Let's get you to bed, lieutenant. This couch can't be good for your back."

"Oh, what, I get a choice in this now?" Hank scoffed but took the offered hand and levered himself off the couch with Connor's help. "Surprised you didn't just throw my fat, naked ass over your shoulder and haul me off to the drunk tank."

"No harm, no foul?" 

Hank steadied on his feet. His blood alcohol content was still elevated. The thin, frayed ends of his hair brushed along his jaw and neck. He swayed a moment against Connor. He was heavy and quite dense. In that moment Connor thought, irresistibly, of the texture of Hank's hair against his hand. The fine layers of oil that gradated from the scalp. The lights were out. While Hank was technically still drunk, he already exhibited symptoms of a hangover. This was the physiological consequence of a long-term addiction. His breath was ripe. He leaned into Connor. The weight of him made Connor's secondary processor double-click.

"Jesus," Hank grumbled. "Don't know why you put up with me."

Connor hupped Hank's arm up and around his shoulder and led him slowly from the couch to the hallway. "It's a mystery. But you're an excellent detective, lieutenant. I'm sure that you'll figure it out."

Hank snorted. His hand tightened around Connor's shoulder. The warmth of each thick finger registered even through the layers of Connor's sports jacket, his button-down, his undershirt. Perhaps he imagined these isolated bands of heat. 

"Hey, uh." 

Hank cut off. They were at the bedroom door. He'd ducked his chin. His hair fell across his long, weathered face. Connor wanted to - well, he wanted. What did he want? He generated a list of twenty distinct desires in the second that it took Hank to square his shoulders and then his chin, to look Connor in the eye.

Each iris was a slim blue ring around a thick, black pupil. This could indicate sexual desire. Most likely it was due to the darkness of the house and the consumption of alcohol. What Connor wanted was to stroke Hank's hair back from his long cheeks, to rub his thumbs along the loose and bruised skin under Hank's eyes, to take care of him in every possible way that any person could take care of any other person. But he could not simply do these things if Hank did not want for Connor to do them. Oh. But he wanted to. Want was the thing that electrified the conductive thirium throughout Connor. It suffused him. He wanted desperately to lick all the sickness and all the sadness out of Hank, but he could not do such a thing. 

Hank looked at him, and Connor looked unblinkingly back at him, and Hank said gruffly, "Thanks. Connor." He patted Connor on the shoulder. His own shoulders seemed to bend fractionally: to form the vague shaping of a U towards Connor. The discharge was white-flecked in his lashes, too. He had one hundred and seventy-four eyelashes around the left eye, one hundred and sixty-eight eyelashes around the right.

"Of course, lieutenant," said Connor. "I'm ... happy to assist."

"Yeah, well." Hank cleared his throat. He leaned away. The bend went out of his shoulders; instead they sagged. "Thanks anyway. You didn't have to but. Yeah." He made to turn from Connor. He opened the bedroom door.

"I wish that you wouldn't drink so much." 

It came out of Connor in a burst. He had come to find these frustrated outbursts, some regularly occurring side effect of deviancy, to be an annoyance. He supposed now it was freeing. 

Hank glanced back at Connor. His body was as yet half-turned to Connor. 

"If you wanted to make me happy," said Connor. "Then I wish that you wouldn't drink like that."

The shadows might have hid Hank from Connor, but that Connor had very carefully designed night vision, a system of internal LEDs and heat radar. He could see in very precise detail how Hank looked away even as he remained with his face turned to Connor. He saw how Hank swallowed, no doubt dryly. Dehydrated.

"Yeah," said Hank. "You're probably right." He was looking, again directly, at Connor. There was something complex to the particular flexing of the muscles in his face, a kind of expression Connor could not translate. His brows were low. How he looked at Connor.

Connor felt his own systems as they worked, each individual aspect in its place. He said, "But you should get some sleep. Good night, lieutenant."

The lieutenant lingered another two seconds. He said, "Good night, Connor," on something of a sigh, a bittersweet huff - and he went alone into the bedroom. He left the door ajar. Connor, too, lingered. Then he pulled the door closed, gently so it did not more than softly click into its jamb. Sumo in the living room made a grumbling sound. Connor, strangely, stayed there in the hallway outside of Hank's room, listening for the subdued rustlings of Hank shedding pants. Getting into bed. Pulling up the covers. The very distant and faint sounds of his human body. A subroutine sought to process the intention of Hank's last expression. To quantify the quality of his sigh. To make sense, then, of the way that Hank pushed at him and yet: the U of his shoulders. His eyes. The alcohol slicking his lips as he grinned lopsided and legs spread wide at Connor, at the bar, as Connor had come to collect.

Connor stroked his thumb along the outside of his palm. He imagined he touched Hank's hair again. 

He turned away.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally composed on twitter. Posted here 'cause I haven't finished anything else lately due to The Job.
> 
> Epilogue tweet:
> 
> later hank starts seeing an addiction therapist and also he and connor kiss under a street lamp as the snow is falling down around them
> 
> (We call that a happy ending here in the biz.)


End file.
